“You made a noise. Like a nose-sigh.” In the past, his spontaneous invention of the term might have made them both chuckle, dissipating the tension.

“I’m just breathing,” she said. “I assume that’s allowed.”

She flicked the radio back up. Chris drove on autopilot, his mind whirring. How many times had he driven between Di’s house and theirs? Past the florist where he’d bought Vicky tulips that one impulsive time; past the record shop where he’d once bumped into Paul Harlow and made painfully awkward small talk. How would he feel if somebody told him he’d never do this journey again, that the routines he often bemoaned could vanish in a flash?

“Slow down, Chris,” Vicky said.

He realized how fast he was driving, his hands tight on the wheel. Yet he didn’t slow. In fact, he swung around the next corner without braking, and Vicky lurched sideways. “Chris, for fuck’s sake.”

“Did something happen?” he repeated, his face hot. “On the ward?”

“No! Aren’t you listening?”

He accelerated again. He wanted to shake her up, wake her up. Then he caught sight of her stricken face, her fingers gripping the door handle, and felt a surge of shame. His throat filled with bile as she morphed for an instant into Freya. He thrust his foot onto the brake to slow the car right down.

“You don’t tell me everything either,” Vicky said once he’d been driving normally for a while.

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t keep nagging you about why you’re so jumpy and weird lately,” she said, “so don’t nag me about what’s going on at work.”

Chris let his hands slip to the base of the wheel. It was as if she was offering him a pact. Let’s agree to keep secrets. Agree to pretend. He wondered how far such a deal could possibly stretch. What would it take to shock them both out of their denial?

19.

PAUL

Paul only realized how far he’d walked when the huge bulk of Richmond Hill loomed ahead. Checking his watch, he was shocked to find it was almost two p.m.: Two hours had passed since he’d left Yvette on the bridge. He’d been striding aimlessly along the river, fighting to get his head straight, to figure out what to do next.

There were six messages from Steph on his phone, asking where he was. The final one said, Your parents are here. Come home.

Paul spun around, almost colliding with a woman on a bike, and ran back in the direction of Kingston.